Off the Tourist Trail: A Local's Guide to Kenema, Sierra Leone's Diamond City

Kenema sits in Sierra Leone's eastern province, a 5-hour drive from Freetown when the roads cooperate (which they don't always do). As Sierra Leone's third-largest city and a major diamond trading center, it carries both the weight of recent history and the energy of rapid change.

My first morning here, I woke to the call to prayer from nearby mosques blending with roosters announcing daybreak. That symphony of sound became my daily alarm clock, a reminder that Kenema operates on its own rhythm—one that honors both tradition and necessity.

The city's recent history reads like a medical case study in resilience. Kenema was devastated during the civil war (1991-2002), then became ground zero for the 2014 Ebola outbreak. As an EMT, I couldn't help but notice the parallels between trauma response in my work and how an entire city metabolizes collective trauma. The Kenema Government Hospital, where I spent my first two weeks, stands as testament to both struggle and healing—its Lassa Fever ward is world-renowned despite limited resources.

What struck me most was how Kenema's residents carry this history not as victims but as survivors. Mohamed, a local nurse who became my cultural guide, put it perfectly: 'We Sierra Leoneans don't break. We bend, we adapt, we transform.' This philosophy permeates everything from the city's architecture—where war-damaged buildings have been repurposed rather than demolished—to its vibrant market economy where nothing goes to waste.

Kenema's geography shapes its character too. Nestled between rainforest regions and surrounded by diamond-rich earth, the city exists at the intersection of natural bounty and resource extraction. This creates a fascinating economic ecosystem where traditional farming practices coexist with diamond trading, where ancient botanical knowledge meets modern medicine.

If you want to understand Kenema's soul, start at its markets. Forget the sterile, tourist-friendly markets you might find elsewhere—Kenema's commercial spaces pulse with authentic daily life. As someone with Mi'kmaq roots who grew up learning about plant medicine from my grandmother, I felt an immediate kinship with Kenema's traditional healers and herbalists.

The main market downtown is a sensory overload in the best possible way. Narrow pathways wind between stalls where vendors sell everything from pharmaceuticals to powerful botanical remedies. The first time I visited, I brought along my travel water filter (an absolute necessity here) and spent hours talking with medicine women about their craft.

One herbalist named Aminata showed me her collection of bark, roots, and leaves used to treat malaria symptoms—many containing the same compounds found in Western pharmaceuticals, but harvested with ecological knowledge passed through generations. When I mentioned my EMT background, she laughed and said, 'So we are colleagues then!' That bridge between different healing traditions became a theme throughout my stay.

For food, head to the smaller Lambayama Market where local farmers bring produce harvested that morning. The geometric patterns in which vendors arrange their pyramids of oranges, plantains, and cassava reminded me of the sacred geometry principles I've studied—practical arrangements that unconsciously echo universal patterns. Here you'll find the ingredients for Kenema's signature dishes: cassava leaf stew, groundnut soup, and jollof rice that puts West African neighbors to shame.

Don't miss the bush meat section if you want to understand local protein sources, though as a visitor, I'd recommend sticking to the farm-raised options. When shopping, bring small bills (Leones) and a reusable bag. Bargaining is expected but should be good-natured—I found starting at about 60% of the initial price usually leads to a fair middle ground.

Early mornings (6-8am) offer the freshest produce and coolest temperatures. By midday, the heat becomes intense, and afternoon thunderstorms are common during the wet season. I learned to carry my packable rain jacket even on sunny mornings, as Kenema's weather shifts with little warning.

The phrase 'blood diamonds' has cast a long shadow over Sierra Leone's mineral wealth, but the reality of diamond mining in Kenema is far more nuanced than Hollywood narratives suggest. As someone drawn to how places of extraction can also be spaces of healing, I was determined to understand this complex industry from the ground up.

With proper arrangements (this is not something to attempt independently), visitors can witness artisanal diamond mining in communities outside Kenema. My guide, Ibrahim, a former miner turned educator, took me to Tongo Fields, about an hour's drive from the city. Here, men stand waist-deep in muddy pits, sifting through gravel with handmade screens—a physically demanding process that might yield nothing for weeks, then suddenly a stone worth thousands.

The geometric precision of these hand-dug pits—often perfect hexagons or octagons—fascinated me. When I asked Ibrahim about the shapes, he explained they weren't random but based on traditional knowledge about how diamonds form and where they're likely to be found. Another reminder that indigenous knowledge systems contain sophisticated understanding of natural patterns.

Before visiting, I researched extensively about ethical concerns in the diamond industry. Sierra Leone has made significant progress with the Kimberley Process Certification Scheme, though challenges remain. If you're interested in purchasing diamonds, Kenema has licensed dealers downtown who can show documentation of a stone's origin. I didn't buy any myself, but I did photograph the process with my travel camera, which handled the challenging lighting conditions of both bright sun and deep shadows remarkably well.

What surprised me most was the miners' spiritual relationship with the earth they excavate. Many perform small rituals before digging, asking permission from ancestors and land spirits. Ibrahim explained, 'We don't just take from the earth. We must acknowledge what we're doing and show respect.' This resonated deeply with indigenous perspectives from my own heritage.

For those interested in mining history, the Sierra Leone National Mining Museum in nearby Panguma offers context through artifacts and oral histories. The museum itself operates on limited hours and with basic facilities, but the knowledge of its caretakers is invaluable.

Beyond its markets and mines, Kenema reveals itself through sacred spaces that blend indigenous spirituality with introduced religions. As someone who's spent years exploring how landscape and wellness intersect, I found these sites to be powerful anchors in understanding the region's cultural heartbeat.

The Cotton Tree at the city's center stands as a natural cathedral. Estimated to be over 500 years old, this massive tree serves as both landmark and spiritual nexus. Local tradition holds that spirits dwell within ancient cotton trees, and even in this predominantly Muslim and Christian city, people still leave small offerings at its base. I spent several mornings here with my travel journal, sketching the intricate root system and observing how residents interact with this living monument.

Kenema's mosques and churches often stand side by side, with the Central Mosque and St. Paul's Cathedral representing the religious harmony that characterizes much of Sierra Leone. What fascinated me was how traditional spiritual practices weave through these introduced faiths—creating syncretic expressions unique to the region.

Outside the city, sacred groves mark spaces where traditional ceremonies still occur, particularly those associated with Poro and Sande societies (male and female initiation groups respectively). These areas are generally closed to outsiders, and it's essential to respect these boundaries. However, with proper introductions through local contacts, I was invited to witness a blessing ceremony at the edge of one such grove.

The ceremony involved rhythmic drumming that altered my consciousness in ways I've only experienced during Mi'kmaq ceremonies back home. The mathematical precision of the polyrhythms—another expression of sacred geometry through sound—created what felt like a physical restructuring of space around us. My medical brain recognizes this as entrainment, where neural oscillations synchronize to external stimuli, but the experience transcended clinical explanation.

For those interested in these spiritual dimensions, approach with genuine respect rather than touristic curiosity. Local guides can help navigate appropriate access, but be prepared for some spaces to remain closed to visitors—a boundary that deserves honor. When visiting any sacred site, modest dress is essential (covered shoulders and knees at minimum), and always ask before taking photographs.

If there's one thing my travels have taught me, it's that food is medicine—a truth recognized by both my Mi'kmaq ancestors and the people of Kenema. The city's culinary landscape offers more than sustenance; it provides a direct connection to healing traditions that have sustained communities through unimaginable hardships.

Street food in Kenema isn't just delicious—it's functional. Take plasas, the leafy stews that form the backbone of local nutrition. Made from cassava leaves, sweet potato leaves, or krain krain (a mucilaginous green similar to okra), these mineral-rich preparations address common nutritional deficiencies. When I mentioned to Mariama, a food vendor near the hospital, that I was feeling run down after a long shift, she prescribed her cassava leaf stew with extra red palm oil—a combination that delivered iron, vitamin A, and protein in perfect proportion.

For travelers concerned about food safety, I follow a simple protocol: eat where locals gather in numbers, look for places where food is cooked fresh in front of you, and always carry my digestive enzymes as backup. My EMT training makes me cautious, but overly restrictive eating means missing profound cultural connections.

Kenema's food scene isn't just about traditional cooking. The city has embraced its own version of food truck culture with mobile kitchens serving fusion dishes that blend Sierra Leonean flavors with global influences. My favorite was 'Diamond Bites,' a motorbike-pulled cart where the chef, a former diamond polisher named Joseph, creates incredible groundnut stew tacos that represent Kenema's cultural hybridization in edible form.

For those staying longer, consider arranging a cooking class. Mine came about organically when I complimented a neighbor's aromatic palm butter soup and found myself drafted into her kitchen the next morning. She taught me that certain ingredients aren't just for flavor—the bitter herbs added at the end serve as natural antimicrobials in a hot climate with limited refrigeration. This intersection of flavor and function exemplifies how traditional knowledge contains sophisticated understanding of food safety.

Drink options require thoughtfulness. Tap water isn't safe for visitors, but locally produced ginger beer and hibiscus tea ('sorrel') offer refreshment with medicinal benefits. Palm wine, tapped fresh from trees and lightly fermented, connects drinkers to a tradition thousands of years old—though quality varies dramatically, so follow local recommendations.

Kenema's surrounding landscapes offer profound experiences for travelers willing to venture beyond city limits. After weeks of intense work at the hospital, these excursions became my own medicine—reconnecting me to natural rhythms and the land's inherent healing properties.

The Kambui Hills Forest Reserve, just 10km south of Kenema, harbors some of West Africa's most biodiverse forests. Hiring a local guide is essential—not just for navigation but for understanding the botanical pharmacy growing wild here. My guide, Emmanuel, is a third-generation traditional healer who identified plants used to treat everything from malaria to wound infections. Many contained compounds that parallel pharmaceuticals I carry in my EMT kit, a reminder that Western medicine often derives from indigenous knowledge systems.

The hike through Kambui Hills isn't technical but requires reasonable fitness and preparation. The forest creates its own microclimate—cooler than the city but intensely humid. I relied heavily on my hiking backpack which kept essentials accessible while allowing proper ventilation against my back in the tropical heat.

For water-based healing, the Moa River offers respite from Kenema's dust and heat. Local communities have used specific river bends as therapeutic spaces for generations, with different sites prescribed for different ailments. What Western medicine might view simply as hydrotherapy, local tradition understands as engagement with water spirits and the river's inherent power. The confluence points—where tributaries join the main river—are considered especially potent healing spaces.

At one such confluence near Blama (30 minutes from Kenema), I witnessed a ceremony where river clay was applied to a child with skin ailments. The clay's mineral content likely provided genuine medicinal benefit, but the ritual context—the songs, the community presence, the precise geometric patterns in which the clay was applied—created a holistic healing experience addressing body, mind, and spirit simultaneously.

For overnight excursions, the Tiwai Island Wildlife Sanctuary on the Moa River offers Sierra Leone's premier ecotourism experience. This 12 square kilometer island hosts 11 primate species and rare pygmy hippos. Simple bungalows provide accommodation, but facilities are basic—bring everything you need, including a good headlamp, insect repellent, and sufficient cash as there are no ATMs. The sanctuary's community-based management model ensures tourism benefits local villages directly.